Work Text:
3pm is an odd time of day.
you blink sleepily, refocusing on the white ceiling with its network of cracks and fissures, bleeding into the walls and the infrastructure and god-knows-where-else. you wonder if the cracks ever cross paths, or meet at a certain point. or do they simply go their separate ways?
3pm is an odd time of day.
in many ways, it's like the colour grey. neither white nor black. neither afternoon nor evening. neither here nor there. it's like the colour grey, the colour of namjoon's soft, worn sweatpants, you think fondly, turning on your side to rest your cheek on his thigh. tracing the seams of his pocket, you smile lazily, the after-lunch sleep seeping into your bones and rendering you befuddled and blissfully lazy.
namjoon feels the apple of your cheek. he leans forward to look at you. “hey.”
you crane your neck slightly, and it’s like looking into a field of sunflowers. you chuckle inwardly, marvelling at how cliched you’ve become, ever since namjoon had swept aside all the cobwebs in your heart to make a little space for himself.
“hey you.”
“what were you thinking?” he puts his phone and earpiece aside.
you collect your thoughts, wondering how to verbalize them. “ah, I was just appreciating your pants. and wondering when was the last time you got them washed.”
“these pants?” he looks down and scrutinises them, placing one hand on his knee and one hand on the crown of your head, fingers absent-mindedly carding through your hair.
you almost don’t want to fight off the feeling of getting lulled to sleep by his fingers, but you have to, because you want to talk to him, to see the cogs working in his head as he tries to remember something that’s probably too mundane in the scheme of the more pressing issues in his head.
“joon,” you reach up for his face. he cocks his head to the side, puzzled.
“joon,” you say more insistently, poking the sides of his cheeks where his dimples ought to appear. only then does he look at you.
“yesterday. I got them out of the wash yesterday.”
and he grins so wide, so wide that he starts to resemble a cheshire cat, perfect teeth in a row and eyes disappearing into crescents with slight lilts at the end. “so you don’t have to worry, these are clean.”
you smile as a way of answering, and close your eyes, basking in the feeling of now - namjoon’s fingers ruffling your hair, caressing it, then smoothing down the strands, the comforting ticking of the wall clock, the warmth of the waning afternoon sun barely settling on your bodies, namjoon’s lap sturdy yet soft enough for your head, the strains of a Carla Bruni song coming from somewhere in the house. and then namjoon’s fingers reach down to your scalp and rests the calloused pads of his fingers, rubbing circles into them. the gesture is as comforting as lying in a fort of clouds, but down the nape of your neck fires a tiny synapse of arousal. you shuffle your shoulders, wanting to get rid of it.
namjoon is a bag of surprises, but you wouldn’t put it past him to be telepathic, when he broadens his hand and lightens his touch.
the effect is instantaneous, as you nearly let out a whimper. your eyes snap open.
the little shit is grinning down at you, dimples out in full force. his fingers are still moving, even when you grab his wrist, trying to make him stop. you smirk, an idea forming in your head.
with an iron-like grip on his wrist, you get up and sit next to him, pressing into his side. you notice his eyes flashing as he stares straight ahead, determined not to look at you. leaning into him, you whisper into his ear. “you know how I feel about your fingers. you know fully well.”
you don’t miss how namjoon’s adam’s apple rises and falls. you trail the hand that’s been holding his wrist up his arm, “and yet you chose to continue.”
while your hand skitters across his collarbone, your leg rises to hike around his hip. “what are you doing?” his voice comes out as more strangled than unaffected.
you choose to let your actions do the talking, as you guide his face towards yours. catching amusement and anticipation in his
half-lidded eyes.
he’s surprisingly pliant in your hold, and he seems to be more than happy to let you have control.
“you’re torturing me,” he says, calm underlying the growl that rumbles from his chest.
you decide to let him down. “well now you’ll know not to push my buttons," you shrug and slip off his lap, stretching yourself along the sofa and placing your head in his lap. his express you feel him stare down at you, gritting his teeth, and you can tell that he's frustrated from the way he slowly lifts your head for awhile to place a pillow over his lap.
"i'm deciding not to push this," he grumbles.
push what? you counter. he grimaces down at you, as if to say you know what you're talking about, you little tease.
He heaves a sigh and absently cards his hand through your hair, this time smoothing over your strands that feels as motherly as it is out-of-habit.
you know that his nocturnal sleeping habits, or lack of, are a by-product of his work. he doesn't stop once he's come up something he can work with, and even when he has, he doesn't stop working on it tirelessly. he wields a message, something he wants to convey, and then from he forms ridges and lines of beautiful, dark, oft-twisted lyrics, taps and carves out beats and rhythms; his carpenter's chisel working late into the night to perfect his art.
that's how you learn to accept namjoon's shortcomings - no matter how many times you've had to cancel outings or settle for instant noodle dinners, or fight the sleep that weighs your eyelids down at 2am, when he can't sleep even with your hand in his, his thoughts sprinting, plodding, then racing and tumbling into one another in his mind, and the only soul who half-knows what's going on in his head is you. you hear, you listen, and you understand until the only thing interrupting the silence in your bedroom is his snoring.
you lace your fingers with his, squeezing lightly to let him know you're there.
"wanna go downstairs for mcflurries?"
"okay...in about 5?"
"yeah...and then when we get back you can read shanghai baby to me until we both fall asleep."
"anything, joon."